


Breathe

by HopelessBanana



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Brother-Sister Relationships, Gen, Servants, but they might as well be, except they aren't actually brother and sister, i have a lot of feelings for matsumae and i feel like the best way to express that is shitty fanfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-27 01:09:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5027890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopelessBanana/pseuds/HopelessBanana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She had vowed that she would never not be there to comfort him again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breathe

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this in literally like an hour or two and it's the middle of this night and i'm probably going to regret this in the morning but i was getting emotional because matsumae is just great and everyone should love her

Matsumae is holding ties up to his chest, one in her right hand and two in her left, comparing the colours and patterns to the pale lilac of his suit jacket. “This one,” she suggests, holding it up to his face.  
“Hmm... It seems just a little bland,” Tsukiyama hums, reaching out to finger the dull sheen of the chocolate silk.  
“It's dark, so it will contrast with the light colours of the rest of the outfit” she explains, her tone evenly measured. “The stripes are subtle enough to not look gaudy or unrefined, yet still add texture.” She traces the faint lines with her nails. “And it will tie in with your belt and shoes.” They are the same dark brown colour, in beautiful shiny leather.  
Tsukiyama nods, slow and unsure, twisting a strand of hair absently round his index finger as he considers her selection. “I suppose,” he agrees eventually (as he usually does with her), taking back the other two, much brighter options. “I doubt Sasaki-san would appreciate anything too bold.” He almost laughs at how strange it sounds to call his Kaneki-kun that, the sibilance of the sounds rolling off his tongue instead of the pleasant clicking in the back of his throat. But he shrugs it off when he sees the look in Matsumae's eyes, warning him. “Thank you, Matsumae.”

She sighs then, turning round to face away from him, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor. From behind, there isn't a speck of colour on her; she is nothing but her black hair, black suit, black shoes. “Master Shuu... May I be frank?”  
Even before she speaks, he knows what it will be about. “Of course,” he says anyway, because if any of the servants is allowed to be frank with him, knows what is really best for him, it is her.  
“You are chasing after the white rabbit, but there is no Wonderland down the rabbit hole.” She glances over her shoulder to gauge his reaction, her dark eyes large and pleading. “Are you certain, absolutely certain, this is what you want?”

No, he is not, he knows. He refuses to make eye contact with her for a moment, brushing an imaginary piece of lint off his trousers. They both know there was nothing there: they are white and Matsumae would have easily seen and cleaned it off already if there was. It is strange, he thinks, that he is dressed so brightly and she so plainly, then he considers how he must have looked next to Kaneki. A riot of colour stood beside someone who was monochrome. But there was beauty in their simplicity. “No.” He won't lie to her. She narrows her eyes, because she can tell he isn't finished speaking. _Go on_ , she tells him without words. “I love him,” he chokes out.  
“I know,” she shrugs.

Then she is facing him again, shoulders square on and arms folded across her chest. Her chin is slightly elevated too, and she is almost looking down her nose at him. From any other servant, he would have been furious, would have told them off for their insubordination. Matsumae is not just any other servant. “Is it worth loving him when all it's going to do is hurt you, Shuu?” She is the only one of them who is capable of making him feel so cowed, more than even his father can. When he would run wild in the halls of the mansion as a child, wrecking havoc, cackling with glee at his mischief as the maids scurried after him in their large skirts, only she was able to stop him. All it took was her glare, the same one she was using on him now. He clasped his hands behind his back and bounced on the balls of his feet once, twice, looking at the floor and not her. _“No...”_ he almost whines, like a schoolboy in trouble with a teacher. Instead he just snaps it at her.

In one swift movement, she is there right in front of him, arms round his shoulders, pulling him to her. “You're infuriating,” she sighs, and he hiccups, tears threatening to burn at his eyes.  
“No, he is,” Tsukiyama sobs, returning the hug. Gently, she pats his head, flattening the soft blue spikes on the back of his neck.  
“Both of you then.” Much as he hates to admit it, Matsumae is really the only person he can be his true self around. He almost collapses into her.  
“Am I a bad person? For doing this to you?” he asks, voice wobbling. The only reply she has for him is a deep, long-suffering sigh. “I thought so.”  
“No, Shuu, you aren't a bad person.” She pulls back, brushes his fringe back into place, and lifts up the stiff collar of his shirt to wrap the tie around. He is frowning as he watches her tie it, as easily on him as on herself. “You're just stupid. And you love too much.”  
“Too much...?” he echoes, and his eyes are wide, jaw falling a little. In that moment, he looks easily five years younger to her. Maybe even as young as Kanae. She strokes his hair again, and presses her lips carefully to his forehead.  
“Far, far, too much.”

He hugs her again, pressing his face into the crook of her shoulder as he sobs, and a spike of hatred for the man that did this to her Master Shuu, who was never her master and always her precious little brother, shoots through Matsumae. There were words hanging between them that would always remain unspoken, but the sentiment would remain. She pats his back, rubbing circles soothingly, waits for his tears to dry. It is something they had done twenty years ago, ten years ago. She had vowed that she would never not be there to comfort him again. “Matsumae,” he cringes, clutching the fabric of her blazer. “I'm sorry.”  
“It's okay, Shuu, shush now, it's all alright.”

When he steps back again, she pulls a handkerchief from her pocket and passes it to him wordlessly. He turns on the spot to dab at his eyes. It's the sign to put that emotional distance between them again, to put the “Master” back on his name and pretend that she can't see how awful he looks. Almost staggering, he crosses the room to his makeup drawer, pulls out his concealer and dabs it under his eyes. When he feels he looks acceptable again, he turns back to her, wearing his public smile, and lifts his arms out slightly. “Well, Matsumae? How do I look?” he asks, and his voice is still a little scratchy and hoarse.  
“ _Fantastico_ ,” she replies. He nods sharply, the corners of his lips turning up just a little more, as if that was the obvious answer all along. “Go find him, Master Shuu.” She opens the door to his room for him, lowering her head a little as he passes her, then steps out into the hallway and closes it behind her. Watching him leave, she hopes beyond hope that today he will be able to make Kaneki remember.

If not, then maybe the next day.


End file.
